Page 68 of The Beginning and End of Everything
He comes back with two sodas, handing me one before he takes his seat again, leaving no space between us as he kicks up his heels onto the edge of the coffee table. "Yeah, sure."
With a smirk, I press play and drop the phone to the cushion. The soft notes of "My Heart Will Go On" hums from the TV before the sepia-colored picture of the boat flashes on the screen.
"Oh. Hell, no. Anything but this.”
"Oh, come on, Brandon. You never would watch this when we were younger."
"Yeah, because I'd rather spend intimate time with a ghost pepper on my ball sack than watch this.”
"Really?" I scowl at him. "It's an epic love story; who doesn't love an epic love story? And it's this orThe Notebookbecause I am not watchingDie Hard.Ever. Again." I watched that more times than I want to admit when I was younger—all just to be around Brandon.
"Leonardo-fucking-Dicaprio or Bruce Willis. No comparison."
"You told me I could pick," I argue.
"You picked this because you know I hate it."
"I went to see the dinosaurs for you."
Dragging a hand down his face, he groans. “Fine, but if I fall asleep halfway through, it's because you want to watch an entire film about a boat sinking. A. Boat. Sinking. It's not even like it gets blown up. Some guy just drives into an iceberg." He shakes his head. “So stupid.”
I smile as I pat him on the knee. "It's a tragic part of history."
"Tragic waste of my time," he grumbles, slurping back his cola.
And here we sit, watching a movie I've seen fifty times. It’s not unlike anything we've done before, but it is different because everything has changed.
Every so often, Brandon’s hand brushes my thigh, and I inch a little closer than I should. There's a mixture of excitement and fear and guilt. As a kid, I’d spent countless nights watching movies wrapped up in Connor’s platonic embrace and never thought anything of it. Somehow I’d missed how truly special that was until now. And I only recognize it now because I miss it—that easiness of just being with someone, of being held and touched. Brandon makes me want that—cravethat—just like he always has. The heat of his body bleeds into mine while I try to focus on the movie when Jack and Rose wade through the rising waters.
"She says his name too much," I say.
"We can watchDie Hard."
"Nope. I consider forcing you to watch this an accomplishment," I whisper, my eyes locked on the screen.
"Fine." He grabs me beneath my arms and yanks me across the couch like I’m nothing but a child, and settles me between his thighs, resting his chin on my head. For a moment, I remain tense, but he's so warm and safe and just, Brandon. Then I relax against his solid chest, and even though I'm looking at the TV, my entire focus is on him. Every breath. Each steady beat of his heart against my back. I give in until it feels like nothing outside of this can touch me. Brandon is my personal cocoon from the hurt and the grief, and I want him to turn me into something beautiful and free.
By the endof the movie, I'm sobbing.
He leans into my line of vision with a smirk. "You’reactuallycrying over that?"
I sniffle and swipe at my cheeks to clear the tears. "It's sad."
"And yet, youwantedto watch it?" That smirks morphs into a grin. "She could have given him half of that door, you know. Kinda dumb if you ask me." Brandon moves me away and stands from the couch to stretch.
"It would have been too much weight and sunk them both."
"Hedies."
I glare at him. "He sacrificed his life for her." Leave it to Brandon to try and degrade my favorite movie. "Someone always dies in epic love stories, Brandon. Don't question it."
He holds up his hands in surrender. "Fine, poss. Whatever you want to believe." Then he starts toward the bathroom.
I go into the bedroom, leaving the door open while I change into a T-shirt. I listen for the sounds of Brandon’s progress as the toilet flushes and the taps turn. Before he opens the door, I climb into the bed, nerves twisting my gut. My palms grow sweaty when the hinges to the bathroom door creak and Brandon’s shadow stretches across the wall of the hallway.
My mouth goes dry, and I barely eke out his name. "Brandon?"
The light silhouettes his frame when he steps to the doorway. "Yeah?"
